


Calamity Song

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Desperation, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Moirails With Pails, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1917045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem is that you’re at the mercy of a useless, outmoded, ass-backwards mess of a biological process. The drones are gone. They’re never coming again. But your body sure thinks they are. It was— You wouldn’t say it was fine, but it was at least tolerable for a while. Realistically speaking, there was always a reasonable (ninety-nine percent) chance that you’d be culled the first time you tried to supply the drones with a pail, and you’ve been bracing yourself to deal with this since you pupated, for fuck’s sake. It feels like a kick to the shame gloves when your body betrays you and decides, whoops, no, it’s time to be all about filling pails for the glory of the empire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calamity Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Silver_Eternity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Eternity/gifts).



> [Tumblr link](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/91673374076/calamity-song-spockandawe-homestuck-archive-of-our)

              The problem is that you’re at the mercy of a useless, outmoded, ass-backwards mess of a biological process. The drones are gone. They’re never coming again. But your body sure thinks they are. It was— You wouldn’t say it was fine, but it was at least tolerable for a while. Realistically speaking, there was always a reasonable (ninety-nine percent) chance that you’d be culled the first time you tried to supply the drones with a pail, and you’ve been bracing yourself to deal with this since you pupated, for fuck’s sake. It feels like a kick to the shame gloves when your body betrays you and decides, whoops, no, it’s time to be all about filling pails for the glory of the empire.

              It wouldn’t be so bad if it was something you could take care of on your own. Your life is already one long, sustained string of humiliating failures, and this could have been just one more embarrassment to deal with yourself in the privacy of your own block. And you tried. You tried for an entire miserable, frustrating week before you finally went digging back through your old schoolfeeding modules and figured out that yeah, this isn’t going to work without a partner. You can still get off just fine, except it’s just about the most unsatisfying thing you’ve ever experienced. You’re just as desperate and not-right in your own skin when you’re done and all you can think of is trying to pail yourself again, even if (hypothetically) you’ve had claws up your nook without being careful and you’ve scraped some very sensitive tissue and shouldn’t be wanting anything up there for another perigee. You mean. Not that you did that.

              The schoolfeeds are all seriously fucking vague, just hurr durr, fill pail, give drone, but you’re pretty sure that what you need is another troll’s bulge to release the slurry building up in your material sac. And fingers won’t cut it, it has to be a bulge (not that you clawed up the inside of your nook figuring that out. Haha. Ha). Of course, you are one of four trolls left in the universe, and, uh. No. You’re not even sure if you’re allowed to call Terezi your ex-girlfriend, so you’re sure as hell not bringing up pails with her. Kanaya, you’d almost be willing to ask her for help, but she is joined at the goddamn hip with Rose and yeah, that is an even less appealing option than bringing this up with Terezi. And Gamzee’s your moirail, so yeah, no.

              To be honest, you’re not even one hundred percent sure that your friends are even dealing with this. You were all hatched right around the same time, but who even knows what mutations you’re dealing with beyond just having a shitty blood color. For all you know, this just feels like being mildly turned on to everyone else, and you’re stuck on your own wondering how far a material sac can stretch before it ruptures. As it turns out, a material sac can stretch really fucking far. A week into this mess, and you’re basically slipping to your block several times a night to pail yourself, desperately hoping for some relief. Two weeks into this mess, and you’re in constant agony, so full of slurry that you think you can feel a tight, painful curve to your stomach where your material sac is being stretched beyond its limits.

               Two weeks in, you also feel like the biggest asshole in the universe, because you’ve completely failed to realize that Gamzee is having the same problem. You’re curled in a pile together, trying to distract yourself and shifting around to find a position that won’t put so much goddamn pressure on your material sac, and you accidentally knee Gamzee in the gut. You feel like a piece of shit right away, and then there are no words for how you feel when he makes a little muffled noise of pain and curls forward around his stomach. It turns out that (your) idiot has even less idea of what’s going on than you do, that complete disaster, and his idea of solving the problem is just to ignore it and wait for it to go away (which is, uh, much less effective than constantly worrying about it and waiting for it to go away).

              You can at least catch him up on the schoolfeeding he somehow missed as a pupa. And you tell him how you’ve been trying to deal with it, and because he has a horrible knack for picking the worst times to be perceptive, then you have to tell him how badly it’s been working for you. Never mind that you’re busy trying to help him, he immediately drags the conversation over to trying to figure out how to help you, and latches onto the idea with more focus than he ever bothers to use for actual important things. And while you’re stuck trying to figure out how to describe the mechanics of this in a way that won’t be even more painfully embarrassing, because he’s your moirail, god, he’s tapping away on his phone and eventually turns to you with a frown.

              “Seems as Kanaya and Terezi been dealing with this all motherfucking business on their lonesome, best friend.”

              You choke and grab for his phone. “Oh my god give that to me, you are not allowed to fucking spread this around!”

              He shakes his head and holds his phone out of reach, and with those stupidly long arms of his, you can’t do much more than pull uselessly at his sleeve. “Nah, brother. I was just all asking about drones and such, and Rose says them two all sorted it out with her, and ain’t no permanent thing, but they’re taking care of shit together.”

              You groan and bury your face in your hands. “You told Rose. We’re on an asteroid with four nosy, gossipy assholes, and you told the nosiest, most gossipy asshole of all.” He grins and starts to say something, but you cut him off. “And no, before you ask, I categorically refuse to throw myself in the middle of that fucking mess. You do what you want, and I’ll just sit here and suffer in silence and mortification.”

              He tugs you right up against his thorax and wraps your arms around you. “Aw, best friend. It ain’t as bad as all that.” His phone goes off again, and he looks at the message, grins, and ruffles your hair. “Plus, Dave says that the girls were all up and having no idea that you were in a spot of trouble.”

              You make a very determined effort to thrash away and bury yourself in the pile. You may never emerge again. If you’re really fucking lucky, maybe you’ll suffocate. “Dave knows. Dave knows. What do you know, a shiny new level of hell, just for me! I never dreamed that so much humiliation could be experienced by one single person, but wow, would you just look at that—”

              Gamzee just steadily paps you until you finally stop ranting and let him pull you close again. “Shoosh, motherfucker, shoosh. If that’s all being how you feel, the two of us can just wait it out on our own. Ain’t no reason to fuss.”

              That’s all well and good, and you spend a lot of your free time kicking yourself for being so self-absorbed you missed that Gamzee was having the same problem as you are. Maybe if you’d spoken up sooner, he could have hooked up with Terezi and you could have hooked up with Kanaya. Or. Something. But now they’re off somewhere by themselves, not answering messages, and Rose only gives you little arch looks when you ask where they are. At this point, you are more than happy to wait for this shit to die off without having to embarrass yourself in front of even more people, but it doesn’t go away. You thought it was as bad as it could get, but it only gets worse.

              Three weeks in, and you’re literally dizzy with how badly you need to pail. There’s a steady pulsing ache in your nook and seedflap, and your bulge constantly feels swollen and too painfully large for your sheathe. You’re in the food preparation block, trying to make something to eat in the hopes it’ll make you feel less like passing out in the middle of the floor, when you get hit by a wave of disorientation, fall over your own feet, and go headfirst into a wall. You hear steps behind you, and ha. Hahaha. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

              “Dude, you okay?”

              You turn trying to snarl, but wow, you’re having trouble remembering how bodies work. “Fuck off, Strider.”

              “No, Vantas. Because I’m pretty sure if I did that, I’d come back to a dead body on the kitchen floor.”

              You start to say that it’s not that bad, but. Uh. It probably is. Your hands are shaking and your face is definitely flushed, and you haven’t been able to sleep well for weeks, and you must look like the biggest goddamn wreck this side of the universe. All of a sudden, you become aware of just how close he is, how desperately you need to be touched, all of it. He’s not even a troll, and you can’t bring yourself to care. You choke on a trill when it’s already halfway out of your mouth, and just barely stop yourself from spreading your legs for him.

              Dave takes a half step back, and you see his face turn red out to his ears. “Shit, Karkat. I know the girls are off in magical alien lesbian sex land or whatever, but you seriously need to take care of that.”

              You snarl. “Do you think I don’t know that, you asshole? Do you think I’m just such a rot-panned idiot that I’m just sitting here enjoying the way my body is making my life a living hell? Because you seem to think so, you festering bulgesore, and I should—”

              “Dude. Calm your tits. Look, Kanaya and Terezi are taking care of each other, so why don’t you and Gamzee just hook up? You’re already boyfriends.”

              “Because he is my moirail, you rot-panned idiot. Filling pails with him—” But as soon as you say the word ‘pails,’ your entire nook clenches, and your bulge feels too big for your sheath. No, no, not now, you can try self-pailing (again) when you get back to your block, but this is not the time—”

              “Look, man, did you even bother asking him? Because I bet you didn’t. Let me just take care of that for you.”

              It takes you a minute to process what he’s saying, another minute to remember how bodies work, and by the time you’re lunging for his phone, he’s already hit send. You flop face down on the floor. Maybe you’ll just stay here forever. Never move again. Pretend you’re the only person on the entire goddamn meteor. You don’t even react when Dave’s message alert sounds and he prods you in the head with his toe.

              “He says yes. To quote, he’d ‘love to help his favorite motherfucker out.’ Complete with one of those stupid clown smilies.”

              When he waves his phone in front of your face, uh. Yeah, that is exactly what he said. Complete with the smiley. You’re torn. On the one hand, you need this, you need it. The last few weeks have been pure torture and you have no idea when (if) things will start getting better. You legitimately have no clue whether you might be doing lasting damage to yourself. But on the other hand—Gamzee can’t have any clue what he’s getting into. He’s gotten this all mixed up and you’re going to fuck up your quadrant and you can’t, you need him. Or he’s so desperate from this that he’s willing to do something he doesn’t want to do and he’s going to get hurt and it’s all your fault—

              You hide your face against the floor and blurt out what you’re thinking before your pan can catch up and stop you. “Can you. Come with me. Because, I’m not—I’m not going to be watching right. If you could just, to make sure I don’t fuck up. Because I wouldn’t be able to deal with it, I’m not able now, and. Maybe you could. You know.”

              “Karkat. I have no idea what you're asking me. And Rose already said that humans were no help with this shit, though I really would have preferred it if she'd told me that without the disappointed sigh.”

              You groan. You must be red all over, and your bulge still thinks coming out to play sounds like the best fucking idea. “Can you come with me?”

              “Whoa, whoa—”

              “Not for the sex, you leaky-panned shithead. Doing this with Gamzee is so fucked up, I don't even have the words to tell you how wrong this is. But I can't, I can't deal with this any longer. Can you just. Keep an eye on us?”

              “You want me to babysit you. While you fuck your boyfriend.”

              You groan. “I want you to keep an eye on him. God, this is the worst kind of quadrant desecration—” I need you to just. Watch Gamzee and make me back the fuck off if this whole thing goes wrong. Which it probably will.”

              When you peek up at him, he's rubbing his forehead. “Why me?”

              “Who’s left, moron? And I’ve apparently already plumbed the sordid depths of humiliation with you already, so sure, let’s just take this to the furthest possible limits of complete mortification.” You raise your head just far enough to let it thud back down onto the tiles. “…I just want to keep Gamzee safe.”

              You’re prepared for refusal, you’re just not sure what flavor it will be. Horrified? Confused? There are so many delightful options to choose from. But when you finally roll your head to the side so you can justsee him out of the corner of your eye, he shrugs and says, “Sure.”

              Wow. Uh. You were not ready for that at all. And you have absolutely no idea how to deal with it. You just kind of stay frozen where you are until Dave sighs theatrically, grabs you under your arms, and starts to haul you to your feet.

              It turns out, the five minutes it takes to walk to Gamzee’s block does absolutely nothing to help you prepare yourself for what’s about to happen. You’re still in shock that Dave asked Gamzee if he’d be fine with it, that Gamzee said yes, that you agreed you’d be fine with it, that you asked Dave to come along, that Dave is coming along— This mess should have collapsed under its own weight long ago, but no. Somehow all these pieces have come together, and you are left in the position having set this whole clusterfuck off without being at all able to handle the situation.

              Dave’s knocking on Gamzee’s door, Gamzee’s opening the door and ushering you both inside, and wow, just look at that, you’re still completely unable to process what’s happening. Fucking magical. Dave at least has the common decency to keep his hands off you and let you stumble over to the pile. Gamzee curls up right against you (because he has no sense of decency, and right now you’re so, so glad that’s the case) and Dave finds a stray seating platform and drags it up against the nearby wall.

You’re just kind of frozen, without a single goddamn clue what to say, until Gamzee finally clears his throat and breaks the silence. “Always glad to have you over, brother, but I have to get my confession on that I ain’t got the slightest clue as to what’s all happening.”

              From this close, the paint doesn’t quite hide that he has circles under his eyes almost as bad as yours. The realization sends a twinge of pity down your spine that goes straight to your bulge, fuck, but it’s all wrong, you just want to hold him close and take care of him, and you’re the worst, most despicable moirail in the world because you can’t stop thinking about pails—

              “Karkat wants me to watch while you two get your rocks off.”

              You flinch, try to pull away, because that too blunt, it sounds even worse out loud than in your head and Gamzee’s going to hate you. You push against him, but he has his arms tight around your thorax and you don’t budge an inch even when you push as hard as you can and hgghh, your nook floods— Gamzee ventures a cautious, “Oh?”

              “Yeah, dude thinks that he’ll up your moirail deal or whatever, wants me to keep an eye on it.”

              Haha, that’s it. You’ve officially wrecked your one decent relationship. You are the literal worst. But Gamzee’s lower lip wibbles, what the fuck, and he hugs you against him even tighter. “Aww, best friend!” And you’re pale for him, so fucking pale, but your bulge is out and he smells like sex, and you need release so badly.

              You give Dave a cautious look before you do anything, because this is so fucked up, he can’t actually be okay with this. But he just shrugs and leans back against the wall. You take Gamzee’s face in both hands, and kiss him as pale as you know how on his forehead before leaning in and whispering to him. “This doesn’t change us, okay? At least as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t. Fuck, I— This is so messed up, but I, I want to help you, and—”

              Gamzee kisses you on the forehead, again on the lips, and he’s working a thigh up between your legs and you still can’t actually believe he’d be fine with this. “Ain’t my preference, brother, but if you’ve a need and I’ve the same, and you’re still all up and wanting to take care of me? Sounds like a motherfucking beautiful palest miracle to me.”

              You’ve never been so glad to hear him talk about miracles. You’re, you’re trying to say something back, something about just how goddamn much you love him and you’re sorry and you need him, but his thigh is rubbing up against your bulge, and ahhh, ahhhh—

              It’s so easy to just grind down against him that you forget for a moment that he’s got the same problem you do, and then you can’t even manage to stop yourself from rutting against his leg while you undo his pants and shove them down his hips. His bulge latches onto your wrist, and you’re torn, because oh god, that’s your moirail, it’s wrong to be seeing him like this. But at the same time, you’re painfully desperate to have him inside you. You freeze up for a moment, because with his bulge pulsing against your arm and leaking genetic material and his leg applying wonderful not-quite-enough pressure against your bulge and nook, your pan shorts out and you can’t even remember what you’re supposed to be doing, but you need more.

              Somehow, Gamzee’s the one who actually keeps it together enough to realize that your pants need to come off too. He pulls away (no no stop come back) just far enough to undo your pants and push them down your legs. Your nook’s been dripping since Dave came into the food preparation block, and urrggh, your pants are disgusting, but you just kick them off into a corner and decide to deal with them later.

              Gamzee takes the opportunity to take off his own shirt, and then starts to pull yours off too, which what, no, that’s not important right now, but then you feel his bare thorax against yours and god yes, you can’t get enough. You’ve both fallen half off the pile by the time you finish getting naked, and then you’re pressed together, so close but not close enough, you could crawl inside his skin and it still wouldn’t be close enough. But then his bulge curls around yours (so big, so big, you need it inside you) and you hear a whispered, “Holy shit,” from Dave.

              That pulls you back into your own pan for a minute. You look up at Gamzee, but fuck, it’s so hard to focus your eyes when all you can feel is the soft slide of his bulge and how horribly empty your nook is. You still manage to find the coordination to pap him on the cheek and say, “Are you okay?”

              His grin is shaky and too tight around the eyes, but shit, you’re sure you don’t look quite like yourself right now either. “I’ll be even better once I get you all up inside me.” You can’t help it, your bulge lashes against his. His hips jerk forward and he gasps, “Best friend—”

              You bury your face in his shoulder. “God. Yes. Fuck, please, Gamzee. I can’t— I don’t know how—”

              “Shhh, shhh.” He has a hand on your horns, which. Which is good. You’re relaxing in his arms, and this is familiar and comforting, and so, so strange when his other hand is on your bulge, guiding it down between his legs. It feels like an electric shock the moment your bulge finds his nook, all cool and wet, clenching around you and drawing you further inside. When his seedflap flutters against the tip of your bulge, you’re so overwhelmed with sensation you almost rake your claws down his back.

              You’re so distracted you don’t even notice what he’s doing with his own bulge until it’s in you, a fast, unforgiving stretch that’s still not enough, and you can’t help crying out at how perfectly full you are. He tries to pull away, gasping “Karkat, no, sorry sorry—” until you get him by the shoulders and pull him right back against you.

              It takes a moment to remember how your lips work, but when you growl, “More,” he shudders and wraps his arms around you, and another length of bulge spreads you wide.

              When he hits your seedflap, you almost lose it right there. The realization that you’re about to spill on the floor pulls you back from the edge of orgasm, but you’re still close, too close. You beg Gamzee to hold still while you wrestle with your sylladex, but his bulge won’t stop coiling in you (and yours won’t stop moving inside him either), and you grab the wrong card twice before a bucket finally clatters to the floor. Just the sight of it is almost enough to finish you, and you barely get it between your legs in time.

              It’s the pressure of the rim between your thighs that’s finally too much. Your seedflap spasms around Gamzee’s bulge, and ahhhhhh he’s holding you open and, and the slurry just pours out of you into the bucket. You can hear it hit the bottom, and oh god, you must sound like a porn star. Gamzee’s arms are tight around you, so tight, and he muffles a strangled little noise in your shoulder as he releases. You stroke his sides as he shakes against you, and he’s petting your hair and your horns kissing your neck as pale as anything even though you have a pail between your legs.

              You’re ready for relief, but when Gamzee finally sits back up and you pushes the hair back from his face, you realize that your bulge isn’t retracting, and your nooks feels barely any better than before. It’s not the urgent need that it was, but. But this is what it felt like a week ago, and if it’s not technically ‘hurting,’ you’re self-aware enough to realize that it’s only not painful in comparison to what it was like an hour ago.

              Gamzee’s bulge twists inside you and you bite back a moan, but. Your pan is racing and the guilt is washing over you, and you don’t know if you can do this again. Because before, god, you think the two of you might have permanently damaged yourselves if you hadn’t done something to fix the problem, but can you really pail your moirail again when it’s not such an urgent need? Or if you don’t finish now, will it just get worse and worse again until you’re in as much pain as before (until Gamzee’s in that kind of pain how could you do that to him)?

               You’re still agonizing over whether or not you can bring yourself to do it, Gamzee bends down to kiss your ear and ask, “Brother?”

               You shiver. “How are you doing, you pathetic wreck?”

               “Better than before.” He laughs breathlessly. “Still got a sight more I could stand to do.” All of a sudden he pulls back, his eyes wide. “Unless. Unless you’re finished, I ain’t meaning to push, best friend, I’m sorry, sorry—”

               You growl and catch him by a horn to pull him back in. “Do I look like I’m finished? You need to stop worrying about me when I’m the one who should be worrying about you.”

               You’ve almost forgotten you aren’t alone until you hear Dave clear his throat behind you. “Round two of the freaky alien sex show is a go?”

               You jump, then can’t help hissing when that makes Gamzee’s bulge shift inside you, dragging against you in a way that shuts down your pan to the level of yes please more. “What do you think, idiot.” When you shift to look at him, you notice that his hand is resting oh-so-casually on the front of his pants. You decide what the hell, why not, and arch up against Gazmee, trilling at the way his bulge moves inside you, and see Dave swallow hard.

               Gamzee’s laughing, tucking his head down in between your horns while he moves a hand to adjust your bulge. His bulge is just beginning to prod at your seedflap again, and you’re torn between that being the best feeling in the entire fucking universe, and being horrified at yourself that you’ve put your moirail in the position of being bulge-deep inside you, and you’re asking him to give you more.

               When you brace yourself against his shoulders and say, “Wait,” Gamzee looks absolutely stricken. He’s already opening his mouth to apologize when you put a hand over his mouth and shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, bulgemunch. I just need. A moment.”

               He strokes your horns and holds you close against his thorax, which seriously isn’t helping with your conflicted pale feelings. He whispers in your ear, too low for Dave to hear, asking a brother to tell him what’s wrong, what he can do to motherfucking help, and god, you are so pale for this moron that it isn’t even funny.

               In the end, Dave is the one who speaks up. “Yo, are you pulling that he’s-my-moirail bullshit again?”

               You turn and glare because first, none of his business, second, because wait, actually it kind of is because that’s why you asked him to come along. You open your mouth, but words aren’t coming out, and after a second Gamzee says, “Ohhh,” and kisses you right on the forehead. “Best friend, don’t be getting your worry on over me. You’re taking care of me, and what more could a brother motherfucking ask for?”

               You grind your teeth. “Okay, so you’re more of a pervert than I ever fucking gave you credit for. But maybe you could stop being so pale when I’m trying to stop my bulge from retracting in the first place!”

               You immediately regret snapping at him when you see the look on his face. And if he can justify pailing his moirail, fine, fantastic, good for him. But you’re having serious issues here, and it’s only getting worse the more he tries to take care of you. But, but you need him so much and your seedflap is starting to spasm against his bulge, but you can’t, you can’t bring yourself to do it like this, when you actually have some control over your own pan and you know just how pale you are for the pathetic disaster in front of you. He looks stricken, and he doesn’t have an answer, and you don’t have an answer, and you’re both bulge deep in each other and need it, and—

               Again, out of nowhere, Dave’s the one to speak up. “Dude, if you’re getting hung up on that crap and he’s fine with it, why not pretend you’re fucking someone else?”

               You open your mouth to argue, and shut it again. Gamzee’s grinning, so he doesn’t see any problem with it, but. There’s definitely got to be an issue with this. Somewhere. Oh, there it is. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that when Gamzee’s right here and I have to pretend he’s someone who isn’t even in the room?” The thought occurs to you and Dave at the same time, and you just have to smile at the look on his face as he goes bright red. You laugh, “Take out your freaky human bulge, and I’ll think about it.”

               He tries to argue, but you can see it, you can see his bulge right there in his pants, and you can see the way he’s watching you, and you’re suddenly giddy on the thought that he’s wanting you. He doesn’t deny it, he just blushes and blushes and reaches down to undo his pants. That time, when Gamzee’s bulge twists inside you, hnnnn, you can imagine that it’s Dave, Dave is the one who’s pailing you for the drones— Your bulge lashes inside Gamzee’s nook, and when he gasps and clutches at you, you can soothe him the way you want to (need to), and you can still imagine the way Dave would move around you.

               He’s pulled his bulge out, and humans are so strange, so alien, but you can still imagine the way he’d brush against your seedflap, so warm because he’s red, red like you, and he’d hold you open while you just give in and— that time when you release into the bucket you sigh his name. Gamzee’s still holding you close, and, and you don’t deserve him, you kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear and love him so, so much. But you watch Dave stroke his bulge, watch the way his mouth opens and he licks his lips while you watch him.

               You’re so distracted by Dave that you don’t even notice that Gamzee’s coming until you feel the rush of cool genetic material around your bulge. You hold him against you stroke his horns while he breathes against your shoulder, and you don’t hate yourself for enjoying the feeling of his bulge as it shifts inside you. You spend some time just holding Gamzee, touching him because he needs you to touch him, because you’re taking care of him, you are, he needs this and you’re the only person who can give it to him. But you draw it out too, just getting distracted, watching Dave touch himself because he’s watching you, he’s pailing himself thinking about you and you don’t only want him, he wants you back.

               You bring Gamzee to orgasm once more before you’re even close again, that’s how distracted you are. After he’s done, he leans down and whispers, “Karkat, brother, you ain’t gotta worry about me no more. Just let me take care of you.”

               You want to protest, you do, but you feel so loved and protected with his arms around you, and you can’t look away from Dave, touching his bulge thinking of you, and you feel fucking giddy with how much you’re wanted and needed. Gamzee’s bulge nudges against your seedflap, because he wants to take care of you the way you take care of him, and Dave is watching with red cheeks, biting his lip with how he wants to be the one touching you that same way. You close your eyes, surrender to the sensation, and come.

               You open your eyes when you hear Dave make a soft, strangled noise, and you’re just in time to watch him spill all over himself. This time, when you pull away, Gamzee lets you. You flop back onto the pile, sweaty, absolutely fucking disgusting, and feeling better than you have in weeks. You let your eyes drift half shut again, and just watch Dave and Gamzee. Dave is still breathing hard and flushed red, looking down at the floor as he cleans himself off, and Gamzee is leaned up against your leg with a hand wrapped around your calf.

               You sigh and lean back against the pile. You. You have a question, and you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t ask it now. It takes a few minutes of rehearsing in your head before you finally manage to speak up. “The heat. It isn’t meant to be taken care of in a single pailing session. I don’t know what the fuck’s supposed to happen since there aren’t drones and we don’t have to worry about getting culled, but if. If this doesn’t finish it. Would you two— Do you mind—”

               Gamzee doesn’t even wait for you to finish before he’s saying, “Of course, best friend,” but you already knew he lacked all standards of decency.

               It’s a couple of seconds before Dave really reacts, and you’re already bracing yourself for rejection when he finally shrugs and says, “Sure, why the hell not.”

               You’re grinning like a moron and don’t even care as you let you finally just let yourself relax.


End file.
